


The Heart Defeats Itself

by Moriavis



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Post-Finale, These guys can't communicate, rating is mostly for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 21:38:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12466452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriavis/pseuds/Moriavis
Summary: Holden returns to Quantico. Everything is still a mess.





	The Heart Defeats Itself

**Author's Note:**

> Ha, I did not expect in any way to get bitten by a plot bunny for this show. I blame Jonathan Groff.
> 
> I did some cursory editing, but this is mostly unbetaed. Enjoy!

~*~

Holden took his overnight bag from the overhead compartment and filed off the plane, feeling very much like a herded cow as everyone made their way through the gangway and out into the relatively fresher air of the airport proper. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second before he gathered his dignity around him and continued forward.

He needed to get his stuff from Debbie's place, maybe go by the office to look at their files one more time — might as well, because who the fuck even knew if he'd have a job a day, a week from now—

Bill was waiting at the gate, smoking a cigarette, and he arched his eyebrow in acknowledgement as he took a long drag. 

Holden stiffened, his back ramrod straight and chin up. "I didn't call you so you could pick me up."

Bill grunted and raised his foot, knocking off the cherry of his cigarette against the sole of his shoe before he stuck the remaining half back in the pack. "No one else is coming."

It was the truth, but it still stung. "I would've gotten a cab."

"No one's stopping you."

They glared at each other for a second — Holden wanted to argue, but if he was honest with himself, he was tired. Too tired to fight. Too tired to think. The last week has been one of the worst in his life.

Holden dropped his gaze and shifted his suitcase from one hand to the other.

"C'mon." Bill squeezed Holden's shoulder and steered him toward the exit. His hand was warm, familiar. "I'll get you home."

Holden nodded and let Bill take his suitcase, going to the passenger side of the car and strapping himself in. Every cell in his body was tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and he wound tighter and tighter the longer Bill was silent. Closing the driver side door. Fastening his seatbelt. 

They were on the highway before Bill broke the silence.

"Why were you in California, Holden?"

Holden bit the inside of his cheek and stared out the window.

Bill tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. "You went to see Kemper again, didn't you?"

Bitterness curled in Holden like smoke, and he transferred his gaze from the window to the road in front of them.

"Ready to tell me what you told OPR, Bill?"

Bill shook his head. "I told them the truth."

"Right." The word was bitten off, fury like bile rising in his throat. "Inappropriate comportment for a field agent."

"You cross lines to get into their heads. I'm worried you're gonna go too far."

Holden closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the headrest. "What's too far, when what we learn saves lives?"

Bill sighed, long and hard. "We're gonna get lost, doing this the way we are. There's only so much twisty you can handle before you start getting twisted."

"I know what I'm doing." His voice was too sharp, too cutting. He needed to get himself back under control.

"Never said you didn't."

"It was implied."

The rest of the drive passed in silence, and Holden relaxed against the seat despite himself as he passed the familiar landmarks of Quantico. When Bill pulled up to Holden's apartment building, he was almost happy to be home. 

"Thanks."

"No problem." Bill popped the trunk so Holden could get his luggage.

Holden tapped his fingers against his thigh as he considered his options. "Night cap?" 

Bill tilted his head and nodded. "Sure. Why not?" He turned off the idling engine as Holden retrieved his suitcase from the trunk, and they walked up to Holden's apartment together. Holden unlocked the door and dropped his suitcase just inside the entrance, heading straight for the bar as Bill closed the door. He poured them both some whiskey and then turned, offering Bill one of the glasses.

Bill accepted the glass and looked around as he sipped the whiskey. "It's late. You should call Debbie tomorrow, let her know you're back in town."

Holden downed his whiskey and turned back to the bar to pour another measure. "We broke up." When he turned back around, Bill was staring at him like the final piece of a puzzle had slipped into place.

"Did you go to Kemper because you didn't feel _wanted_?" Bill asked in disbelief.

"Fuck you." Holden rubbed a hand over his face. "Debbie had nothing to do with it. OPR had nothing to do with it. I got a call from a hospital — Kemper tried to commit suicide."

"To get you back there." Bill slammed his glass down on the bar. "And it fucking _worked_."

"That's not—" Holden tightened his grip on his glass, unsure how to describe the numbness, the betrayal he'd felt, how he hadn't even meant to go to California before he found himself flying there. "Of course, that's what he was trying to do. I just didn't expect—"

Bill crossed the few feet that separated them and reached out, cupping Holden's elbows in his palms. "What did he do to you?"

Holden's attention fractured as he looked down — the warmth of Bill's hands, the cold, pale colors of the undecorated walls of his apartment, the cuff of his sleeve, the edge just poking past his suit jacket — he wasn't aware that he was shaking until Bill tightened his grip. 

"There were no guards. He hugged me like…" Holden's vision blurred, bile burning up the back of his throat, and he met Bill's eyes with a quiet, confused terror. The panic that had hit him in the hospital room didn't come back, but it waited in the pound of his heart, his quickened breath.

Bill's eyes were clear and intense, non-judgmental, and he squeezed Holden's elbows gently. "I told OPR that you were a good agent, but you skirted the lines. Sometimes we have to, but you do it so naturally — it scares everyone, did you know that? You put on masks like nothing affects you, and these killers think you're one of them—"

" _Fuck_." The word came out more forceful and miserable than Holden intended. "I'm not a _monster_ —"

Bill shrugged and shook his head. "Maybe you're not. Maybe we are. We're doing shit no one's done before, there's gonna be problems." Bill met Holden's eyes again. "Kemper isn't a fucking Pinto running an intersection. This time I can see it coming."

Holden wasn't sure who moved first — Bill leaned forward as Holden crashed into him, his hand clenched in Bill's suit jacket as if that would keep him close. The kiss was hard, neither of them giving up ground, and Holden melted into it, held up only by his hands on Bill's jacket, by Bill's hands clenched tight on his elbows.

Unmoveable. Solid. Reassuring.

Married.

They both remembered Nancy at the same time — Holden could tell by the way Bill tensed, and they snapped away from each other like they were electrified. Bill snatched his whiskey from the bar and stalked over to the other side of the room, swallowing his drink in one long gulp. 

Holden turned away and ducked his head, running his hands through his hair. His eyes caught on his own glass, lying forgotten on the floor, whiskey pooled and soaking into the carpet. He held his breath, waiting for Bill to say something, waiting for the tension to break, but neither of them said a word. The silence stretched into a strange awkwardness, and then Bill cleared his throat.

"OPR will put a note on your file. We'll be more careful. Make sure no one does an interview on one of these guys by themselves." 

Holden heard Bill set down his glass.

"See you tomorrow?"

Holden nodded, a short, jerky thing. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there."

"Okay." Bill sighed. Holden still couldn't bring himself to turn around. "I'll let myself out."

Holden counted to ten in his head, listened to the door shut, the latch settle, and then turned around to lock it. He shrugged out of his jacket. Hung it up. Rolled his sleeves.Then he took their glasses into the kitchen and washed them. He found the carpet cleaner beneath the sink and worked on scrubbing the whiskey out of the carpet before it stained for good.

All he wanted was one damned relationship to come easy. Killers shouldn't have been easier to understand than the people he cared about.

Maybe there was something wrong with him after all.

~*~


End file.
